


Something Different

by everysundoesntrise



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Post-Nogitsune, Stiles POV, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 04:59:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14927574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everysundoesntrise/pseuds/everysundoesntrise
Summary: Stiles first coughs up a flower three weeks before his twentieth birthday. A dark red carnation. He can’t deny that he was expecting it. There’s always been something about Derek Hale.





	Something Different

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't know what Hanahaki is, it's a fictional disease in which someone throws up flowers if their feelings of love are not returned. The only way it can be cured is if the feelings are returned (in this fic, it requires the object of affections to acknowledge to themselves that they have feelings for the person with Hanahaki), the person gets over the feelings or if the person has a surgery that would consequently remove the feelings permanently.

Stiles first coughs up a flower three weeks before his twentieth birthday. A dark red carnation. Apparently the symbol of pure love if he remembers his mother correctly. His first thought is the irony, the son of a florist suffering from Hanahaki disease for a second time so early in his life.

His second thought is acceptance. He can’t deny that he was expecting it. There’s always been something about Derek Hale, at least in Stiles’ eyes. It’s just that thing apparently happens to be pure love.

And that is what’s really the scary part, not the flowers, not the phantom pain he still feels from the months of agony coughing up pink calla lilies for Lydia Martin. It’s the supposed depth of Stiles’ feelings, because even he is not so sure he can get over this one.

The worst part of it all is that he’s alone in it. With Lydia, his dad knew, but never pressed about it because he figured Stiles would grow out of it since he was only fourteen at the time, but with Derek, if anyone finds out, they’ll just push him to surgery, because he’s at the age where people start taking things like love as more permanent, as something that needs to be _treated_.

So he picks up the flower and throws it away. It’s different from the first pink calla lily he coughed up six years ago, which used to be framed proudly above his desk, a sign that he was in love, that made him feel like an adult and worthy of Lydia. This time, he know he is not worthy of the person the flowers were for and the red carnation sitting in his trash can serves as a blatant reminder.

It’s a bit twisted, really, because, coughing up the flower, Stiles hasn’t felt as close to his mother in a long time. She was in love with researching Hanahaki disease, spent years writing her masters’ thesis on it. It’s another reason he justifies refusing the surgery in his head; if he’s going to die, there is something oddly comforting, maybe even poetic, in dying as a result of his mother’s academic passion.

He idly wonders what Hanahaki smells like to werewolves, if it even has a smell.

“Flowers,” Scott frowns when he greets Stiles on his birthday, “you smell like flowers.”

Stiles supposes that was the obvious answer, and it’s easy to shrug off since most people don’t even know about Hanahaki as it is not a disease that typically affects the western countries of the world.

Scott seems to buy his lie about picking up a part-time job at the local florist, because he smiles and immediately pulls Stiles into a hug, which stings a little bit if he’s honest since Scott knows Stiles hasn’t even been able to walk into a florist since his mom got sick, “Happy birthday bro! Still down for dinner with everyone?”

Stiles chest aches a bit because he knows that everyone includes Derek, forces himself to suppress a cough, and lets himself return Scott’s hug, “Of course, buddy. Wouldn’t miss an opportunity where people celebrate how great I am.”

Scott rolls his eyes, breaking the hug, “I don’t think Derek would’ve agreed to that part of the dinner.”

And it’s meant to be a joke, so Stiles laughs.

Three months of coughing up flowers for Lydia Martin in no way prepared him for the intense pain that flares up in his chest the second he sees Derek grumpily sitting at the table, with a big banner that declares, _Happy Birthday Stiles!!!!_ , directly above him. And if Stiles wasn’t so freaked out and just generally freaking terrified, he would’ve taken a picture for instagram with some witty caption that he can’t even think of right now because he can barely breathe.

In a fit of total bravery, he runs to the bathroom, doesn’t even lock the door and promptly vomits flowers into the toilet, looking slighter redder than the first one and he supposes that’s probably the blood’s fault. It’s funny though because with Lydia, the blood didn’t start until the second month, but with Derek, he couldn’t even manage one.

His breathing is so heavy it takes him a minute to realize that someone else is in there with him. Her voice breaks, “Stiles…”

“Oh, hey Lydia,” he can’t really bring himself to look at her, see the pity, the horror on her face, “What brings you all the way to the men’s bathroom?”

“Don’t smartmouth me, Stilinski,” he watches her look between him and the blood-stained carnations in the toilet, “I always just assumed it was a myth.”

“Nope,” he finally brings himself to look up at her and smiles, “You’re looking at a two-time counterexample to that.”

“Two-time..” there’s realization in her voice and Stiles feels guilty. Lydia was never meant to know; he was adamant about that, just like he is about Derek never finding out. His mother had told him stories, about the person on the other side of Hanahaki, the one’s forced to live with the guilt after. He never wants that for Lydia, for Derek, for anyone.

“It was six years ago. Don’t worry about that,” he tries to smile again, but a carnation forces itself out instead.

Lydia looks like she wants to say something, but she kneels down next to him instead, rubbing his back as a few more come out. Stiles thinks the silence is a bit suffocating, wonders if the others are listening in, finding out how pathetic he is that he even screws up unrequited love. His breath speeds back up at the thought of that, and he’s reduced into some kind of mixture of a small panic attack and a coughing fit.

Lydia seems to know what he’s thinking, her voice hesitant with worry laced in, “I told the Derek to not listen in, go somewhere out of earshot because that wasn’t fair to you. The other wolves weren’t there yet and Derek said he’d handle them” she takes a pause, almost like she’s afraid to continue, “That’s who these are for, right? Derek?”

The name does anything but comfort him.

Within a few minutes, he manages to force the flowers out and him and Lydia are back at the table, the rest of his friends looking at him with worry.

“Just felt a little anxious,” and he wonders if it’s a little messed up that he’s using his anxiety as an excuse instead of admitting to his inability to deal with the flowers, with his feelings, “Can someone get me a drink?”

Derek smiles at him and Stiles somehow manages not to cough up another flower, “It’s your twentieth birthday, not your twenty first.”

Lydia glares at Derek, “Just order him a drink, Hale.” There’s aggression there, misplaced, because it’s not Derek’s fault, but Stiles knows Lydia just wants someone to blame.

Stiles eventually gets the drink, a gin and tonic. It doesn’t go very well with the blood in his mouth, but he supposes he’ll have to make do.  

Derek offers to walk him home after the dinner. Lydia looks like she wants to protest, but Stiles silences her with a look. Avoiding Derek wouldn’t help him get over it. That’s not the type of person he is.

“You alright, Stiles?” Derek asks the second that they are not within hearing distance of the other wolves, “You smell like blood.”

“You might want to speak quieter, Derek, or people might actually start to think you care.”

Derek’s steps become slower, forcing Stiles to slow down to meet his pace, “Going to be a long walk if you keep deflecting.”

Stiles fakes a smile, admitting defeat, “I have Hanahaki, the Japanese flower disease. It’s fatal. There’s a surgery, but the risk is not worth it, so I’m just riding it out until the end.”

Derek doesn’t say anything for a while, doesn’t look like he can believe Stiles’ nochlanace, but Stiles supposes Derek doesn’t even really know what it is, so he can’t understand. He wonders if Derek ever had it if he would be willing to take the surgery. He wonders who really could.

“Stiles,” Derek begins, pace still slow, “Whatever the surgery costs, it’s not worth dying for.”

Stiles doesn’t know how to answer. There’s no way to explain that doesn’t end with Derek feeling guilty over something he shouldn’t.

“Can we just speed up, Derek?” Stiles wants to be home, wants to be away from Derek to prevent any possibility of slipping up, of telling Derek about his feelings, about everything, “Just look it up. I don’t want to talk about it.”  

It gets Derek to shut up and quicken his pace to a normal one. Stiles tries to joke the rest of the walk home, distract himself and Derek, but his heart isn’t really in it.

Derek smiles sadly when they get to Stiles’ house, “I just think you should consider the surgery. If the disease is fatal, think about what that’s going to do to your dad, to Scott, to..,” he trails off before finishing. Stiles wonders if that sentence was supposed to end in ‘to me.’ It’s a low blow and Derek knows it. His dad was the only reason he considered the surgery. Maybe before his dad and Melissa got married, he would’ve taken the surgery in a heartbeat, but his dad won’t be alone if Stiles dies now and it’s selfish of him, he knows, but he thinks maybe after everything that’s happened to him, everything he’s survived, he’s entitled to be a little selfish sometimes.

He voices that to Lydia when she comes over later that night. He doesn’t voice that there’s some part of him that doesn’t believe it himself.

“I don’t think it’s selfish,” she replies, her expression guarded, “It’s frustrating that you won’t at least tell Derek how you feel to see if he returns your feelings, but not selfish.”

“He knows about the disease now. If I tell him, he’ll have to live with the knowledge that the flowers I was coughing up were for him. That’s not fair, especially not to Derek who’s spent his whole life blaming himself for other people’s deaths. I’m not going to add to that.”

“For once, you need to consider what will be the best for you. Not Derek, not Scott, not your dad, not me, but you, Stiles. You give so much to the people you care about and we’ve all taken advantage of it at some point, but it’s not fair to you.” Stiles wants to protest, but knows she’s right at some level. The majority of reasons for not telling Derek his feelings or for not telling Scott or his dad about this entire situation were rooted in trying to not worry them, not guilt them.

“Tell him, Stiles,” her tone sounds stern, but he can hear the plea, the desperation underneath, “I think there’s a pretty big chance he likes you back.”

He knows he won’t, but he thinks he may as well give Lydia a little hope, “Maybe.”

She sees right through him and he feels another flower coming up. She rubs his back and helps him through the other five or six that come that night.  

The next morning he wakes up to 14 missed calls and 8 texts, all from Derek.

 _Stiles..  
_ [Received 1:43 am]

 _Whoever this is about, they aren’t worth it.  
_ [Received 1:44 am]

 _This isn’t worth dying over.  
_ [Received 1:44 am]

 _Please.  
_ [Received 1:47 am]

 _Stiles… if you die, I don’t know what I’ll do.  
_ [Received 2:05 am]

 _You’re more than your feelings for this person.  
_ [Received 2:07 am]

 _And don’t reply with some snarky comment about how you didn’t know I cared, because that’s bullshit. I do. And I’m not going to watch you let yourself die when you can prevent it.  
_ [Received 2:15 am]

 _Please pick up..  
_ [Received 2:30 am]

His heart breaks a little at the messages and for a second, he entertains the idea that maybe Lydia was right, maybe Derek does feel something for Stiles, but he quickly dismisses the idea as he feels another flower in his throat. Hanahaki is a pretty stark and painful reminder that Derek doesn’t have feelings for him.

 _Derek, I’m fine. Please just drop it.  
_ [Sent 8:05 am]

 _Can we get lunch?  
_ [Received 8:10 am]

 _Is lunch an elaborate cover up for pressuring me into talking?  
_ [Sent 8:12 am]

 _No. I just want to spend time with you. 12?  
_ [Sent 8:15 am]

His tries to stop his heart from speeding up at Derek’s reply, tries to force down a blush before he confirms his plans with Derek.

True to his word, Derek doesn’t bring up the disease throughout the first hour of lunch. There’s some lingering tension, some unspoken emotions that Stiles can’t quite figure out, but for the most part, Derek pretends like Stiles is fine, like he’s healthy. And despite everything, Stiles feels content, happy even.

But it doesn’t last, not that Stiles is surprised by that. Stiles and happiness have never really been compatible terms.

A dark red carnation forces itself out of Stiles throat and the elephant in the room is suddenly right in front of them, sitting in Stiles’ lap, covered in blood, unable to be ignored.

Stiles stares at the flower; his eyes refusing to look at Derek, before he laughs bitterly, “It means something, you know? The different flowers.”

Derek doesn’t say anything; Stiles supposes Derek doesn’t really know where to begin.

“When they were for Lydia, the flowers were calla lilies. Symbol of admiration. Do you know what dark red carnations symbolize?” Stiles finally brings himself to look at Derek as he asks the question and the sadness on Derek’s face is palpable.

When it looks like Derek doesn’t have an answer, Stiles smiles sadly, “Deep love and all that jazz.”

He can’t read the expression on Derek’s face.

After a few moments of silence, Derek speaks, “Stiles, I’m not worth it.”

There’s a pause, a second of confusion, before Stiles lets Derek’s words fully hit him. Derek knew. He wonders if he should feel betrayed, but he only feels resigned, swallowing the implied rejection like it’s another flower.

“Oh,” he begins, because is there really a correct response to finding out he failed in hiding feelings he had previously prided himself on keeping secret, “How long have you known?”

Derek has the decency to look ashamed, “A while.” His gaze shifts to the flower now sitting on the table, “I didn’t know it was that strong.”

There’s a lot Stiles can say, a lot that he wants to say, but he settles on silence. He doesn’t really know what’s feeling.

“Stiles, please, just get the surgery.”

Anger. He realizes. That’s what he’s feeling.

“Fuck you, Derek,” he restrains himself, preventing the words from coming out like venom, but it’s hard when he feels complete anger surfacing in his tone, “This is why I didn’t want you to know. You have some hero complex, trying to make sure I get better, fueled by misplaced guilt. Because you shouldn’t feel guilty. These feelings, they’re mine, okay?  Like it or not, they’re apart of me and I’m so sick of having to lose parts of myself because other people ask. This is something I get to be in control of.”

Derek looks like he’s been hit. Control’s never been an easy topic for either of them. “You’ll die, Stiles.”

He bites back the sarcastic remark that’s on the tip of his tongue, settling instead for honesty, “I know and I’m fine with it.” Because he does and he is. He’s made peace with that. It won’t be a nogitsune or a werewolf or some other big bad that kills him, it’ll be something he understands, something he’s the master of, something that connects him to his mother. He thinks that they’re aren’t many better ways to go.

“Well, I’m not.”

“And like I said Derek, it’s not really your decision.” Stiles leaves. He doesn’t leave because of the carnation he feels in the back of his throat. He leaves because he can. He leaves because if he stays any longer, he might give in to Derek, just like he always does.

He texts Lydia a couple hours later.

 _Derek’s known for a while. About my feelings.  
_ [Sent 3:12 pm]

 _Put this on the record as the first time you were ever wrong.  
_ [Sent 3:13 pm]

 _I’m coming over.  
_ [Received 3:14 pm]

She gets to his house within ten minutes and for the first time since the flowers started, Stiles lets himself cry. He just had his heart broken; he figures he’s allowed to cry.

That night, he has a dream of what it’s going to be like a few months down the line, of himself in a hospital bed, of the look of complete devastation on his Scott’s face, on Derek’s, on his dad’s. His dad leaning over his hospital bed, pleading that he can’t lose Stiles too. His funeral. All the people left at his funeral, trying to figure out how they're going to live the rest of their lives without him in it.

Stiles wakes up on the brink of a panic attack and he’s mad at himself even though somewhere deep down, he always knew he would get here, the point where the disease’s threat became more real, the point where he would inevitably agree to get the surgery. Because no matter how much Stiles longs for control, longs for keeping himself whole, his loyalty, his desire to keep the people important to him happy, would always win out. He was starting to think it was a curse or maybe control really was overrated.

He schedules the surgery for the beginning of next month, giving him two weeks. He bites down the self-loathing that follows and wonders if he’s supposed to do something to commemorate having to give up his feelings, give up a large part of himself, because it feels a bit like something’s dying.

It takes Stiles six hours to realize that he hasn’t coughed up a flower since he woke up, that the taste of carnation is gone and since thinking about Derek still makes his heart hurt, he’s pretty sure the disease isn’t gone because of Stiles.

The leftover bitterness and anger toward Derek he harbors from the night before doesn’t stop his heart from doing somersaults at the implication. The seeming reality of his feelings being returned, however, still doesn’t change the fact that he’s mad. It partly adds to the fire, because it doesn’t make sense considering yesterday Derek was pressuring Stiles into getting over his feelings, trying to force Stiles’ hand.

And Stiles is nothing if not stubborn, so he resolves that Derek rejected him, tried to guilt him into surgery, so if Derek loves Stiles, Derek will have to be the one to do something about it.

Derek apparently likes to wait, because it takes him a week to show up at Stiles’ house. Stiles gives himself credit for not breaking down and seeing Derek first. At least he has some self-control left.

“Hi,” Derek starts with, eloquent as ever.

“Hi,” Stiles says. When Derek doesn’t look like he’s going to reply, Stiles continues, intent on not making this easy for Derek, “Is that all you came over for? A hi?”

“You know why I’m here.”

Stiles smiles, his eyebrow quirking up, “Oh do I?”

Derek glares at him in response.

“Fine,” Stiles concedes because as nice as it would to taunt Derek, he’s still nervous and knows they have to have this conversation, “I was going to have the surgery. You were right that I wouldn’t be able to do that to my dad, to any of you.”

If Derek looks surprised, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he changes the topic, sensing Stiles’ frustrating at that decision, “Lydia saw me that night. Told me to stop lying to myself about what I wanted, what I felt.” Stiles remembers Lydia leaving his house with a determined look that night, didn’t really think much of it at the time, but it makes sense now.

“I guess once I knew what I was looking for, it wasn’t hard to see,” Derek frowns, “I spent so long trying to ignore the fact that you had feelings for me for a million reasons that all just boiled down to fear that I never stopped to think about if I had feelings for you.”

“Well, do you?”

He can see Derek resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “Don’t be cheeky, Stiles.”

Stiles grins, “You love me anyway.”

“God knows why, but I do,” Derek takes a step closer to him and Stiles’ own gaze drops down to Derek’s lips, “I’m sorry it took so long, Stiles.”

Derek kisses him and the taste of Derek is so much better than the carnations.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think/if there are any errors I missed!! :) Title comes from a song from The Band's Visit.
> 
> Things I couldn't include because it was Stiles' POV:
> 
> Derek's original idea for lunch was to act like a dick to try to get Stiles to get over him, but after seeing Stiles for one second, he couldn't, because it's hard not to be himself around Stiles and yet this idiot still couldn't tell he was in love with Stiles.
> 
> re, Lydia: if Stiles had not agreed to have the surgery by a certain point, she would have gotten mad and tried to convince him to have it; she would've thrown back the words he said to her about death happening to the people around you. She knows him well enough to know that he was going to eventually agree to have the surgery if Derek didn't love him back, but she also knows that he needed a friend that would listen with little judgement while he worked through it all.


End file.
